The Sunshine and the Sea
by xLaramiex
Summary: When Lady Anstruther goes to France, Jimmy is left friendless to navigate a new workplace full of confusing people who like to stare at him. Or, Downton through the eyes of an autistic Jimmy. / Very much Jimmy-focused, features pretty much everyone else to varying degrees (Thomas, Ivy and Alfred have the largest secondary roles). Cross-posted from ao3.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This very loosely follows canon (at least the bits that directly affect Jimmy), from Jimmy's arrival up to the end-of-s4 Christmas special (we all know s5 never happened nope nothing). Big thanks to the admin of fuckyeah-thommy for the Thommy storyline videos, which helped enormously with this fic._

* * *

When Jimmy walked down the staff corridor of Downton Abbey for the first time, his first impression was that it was so, so big. He didn't know where anything was or how it worked or who was working and living there. Everything was unknown. Flapping his hands helped a little, but he forced himself to stop as he reached the end of the corridor. Entering the servants' hall, Jimmy fixed a smile on his face and said "Hello," to the people amassed there, his gaze only reaching as high as their necks.

Everyone stared and Jimmy wanted to run back along the corridor but he made himself stay in place. "Can we help you?" one of the maids asked.

"I'm here to see Mr Carson," he said, looking at the different widths of wood on the back of the chair in front of him.

Another man walked into the room and he stared at Jimmy too. Was Jimmy doing something wrong? Had he dressed wrongly? Was his face not wearing the right expression?

"Who's this?" the man asked.

"Jimmy Kent, at your service," he said, because that was supposed to be polite. It was what he always said when he met new people, and it seemed to go down well.

"I'm Mr Barrow, his Lordship's valet," the new man said.

"I'm here to see Mr Carson," Jimmy repeated.

"What's the matter, have you all been turned into pillars of salt?" an older woman asked as she entered the room - and _she_ stared at Jimmy as well! He hoped they were not always like that, because it was creepy. "May I help?"

"I'm here to see Mr Carson."

"I see. Well, if you'll - wait there."

"What?" Jimmy asked, but the woman had already started walking away.

"If you wait, she'll go and see if Mr Carson's ready," explained Mr Barrow.

Jimmy did, trying to disappear into a corner as the other servants mercifully returned to whatever they were doing. After a minute or two, the older woman ("I'm Mrs Hughes, the Housekeeper") returned and showed Jimmy into the Butler's office.

"I see you've been working for the Dowager, Lady Anstruther," said Mr Carson.

Jimmy said nothing, because it was not a question.

In his peripheral vision, from where his eyes were fixed on the reference in the Butler's hands, Jimmy saw Mr Carson raise his eyebrows. "Might you tell me about that, or should I simply guess? For example, why did you leave?"

"I can tell you," Jimmy said hastily, because it sounded as though he had got something wrong already. "She's closed up the house and gone to live in France. She wanted me to go but I didn't want to. I didn't think I'd like the food."

"Even though she wanted you to go?"

That's what I _said_ , Jimmy thought. But his fellow footman from Lady Anstruther's (Luke) had said he should make a joke or something, so he echoed one of Luke's favourite sayings: "You know what women can be like."

Mr Carson did not laugh though. Jimmy was not good at telling jokes. "Not, I suspect, as well as you do."

That was a compliment, wasn't it? Jimmy wasn't sure. He ended up being offered the job though, so he couldn't have done too badly. Mr Carson showed him where a few things were and clarified his duties and the routine of the house. His pedantry was reassuring.

Later, Jimmy went upstairs to his new room to wash and change. He put away his few possessions and tried on his new uniform. As he was struggling into his shirt, he heard: "You got the job, then?" He turned to see Mr Barrow.

"I'm on my way, Mr Barrow," he said. "They say you were a footman once, so can I come to you if there's anything I need to know?"

"Certainly. Why not?"

Mr Barrow tried to make eye contact too much.

Jimmy returned to struggling with his new, over-starched clothes.

* * *

Jimmy liked Mrs Patmore. She didn't waste words, just gave their orders and sent them away. She was loud though, which made Jimmy's head hurt.

She was not as annoying as Alfred though, who stared at him combatively and quibbled over which tray he should be carrying. When they did get to carrying them upstairs, Jimmy felt more nervous than ever, feeling as though he was brand-new to the job and starting from the beginning all over again. It was suddenly hard to remember the simplest of tasks, in this entirely new situation.

He was introduced to them all, that first evening, through the oldest and clearly most distinguished of the family. "This is our new footman, mama. What should we call you?"

"Jimmy," he said.

"James, your Ladyship," Mr Carson said.

"My name's Jimmy," Jimmy insisted, because how could he let that change?

"His name's James," Mr Carson repeated. "You may call him James."

He sounded angry, so Jimmy fixed his eyes on his serving tray and said nothing until Mr Carson dismissed him.

"I've never been James in my life," he complained when he got downstairs. "I was Jimmy to Lady Anstruther."

Mr Carson did not budge an inch, and Alfred explained that he never did. "I should be able to use my own name," Jimmy said.

"You won't get any less out of Mr Carson. He thinks he owns everything about us."

* * *

Jimmy tried to ignore the breakfast conversation, because too many words too early in the morning tended to make his brain hurt. Why people were so talkative in the morning, he had no idea. Didn't they have enough to think about? He picked out a few words, though, and he even found that he could join in on their talk about babies. "It's always an idea to be prepared," he said.

"I expect you're always prepared," said Mr Barrow.

"I try to be, Mr Barrow," Jimmy replied, because he always found that having an idea of what would happen in advance was comforting. It helped him deal with what was going to happen.

Afterwards, Mr Carson stopped him. "Jimmy, could you take the time today to wind the clocks? It's time they were done and everyone else is otherwise engaged today. I'll tell you where they are, of course."

"Thank you, Mr Carson. Could I have it written down please?"

Jimmy found himself subject to another disapproving frown, but in the end Mr Carson agreed, and wrote him a quick list of the locations.

The only problem was, he knew nothing about clocks. Miss O'Brien told him to ask Mr Barrow. "I'd keep in with him if I were you," she added, and Jimmy supposed she had to be right because she had just helped him with advice. Accordingly, he went to Mr Barrow a little later, and asked if he would teach Jimmy.

Mr Barrow agreed, and took him to the clock in the hallway. "All you do is put the key into that point in the face - sometimes there's more than one winding point because the clock has more than one set of gears, but we're starting you off with an easy one. Although, this one is actually a timepiece because it doesn't chime. So then you turn it clockwise sixteen times until it becomes stiff, then you stop."

Jimmy lost track of the instructions through all the superfluous words. "Turn what? Look, can't you show me?"

Mr Barrow opened the clock face for him and handed him the key, pointing to the winding point for Jimmy to insert it. "Now turn it fifteen times clockwise and I'll help you feel when to stop on the last one."

Jimmy did as he was told, counting the revolutions aloud. When he reached the last one, Mr Barrow stepped up close behind him and put his hand over Jimmy's. Jimmy didn't much like to be touched, but Mr Barrow's hand was clean and dry, and the touch was firm, so he said nothing as they turned the key together.

"Concentrate on the circuit," Mr Barrow said quietly. "...There. You feel a slight increase in the resistance?"

"Yes," Jimmy replied. Mr Barrow put his hands on Jimmy's shoulders as they spoke about clocks as living things, and Jimmy wished he would stop, but it was easier to keep his back to Mr Barrow and avoid his stare than to move, so he stayed where he was.

* * *

The kitchen maid, Ivy, kept looking him up and down and smiling. Jimmy was reminded of what Luke had said about women staring and what it meant, and tried to stay out of her way in case she tried to talk to him too much. It took enough energy to speak to the people he _had_ to without wasting it on people he had only known for a day.

He went back to his room when there was a lull in his workload after luncheon, adding a silver spoon to the two forks and a knife already assembled on his windowsill. They caught the light so prettily, reflecting off their clean, bright surfaces.

Mr Barrow spoke from his doorway. "Mr Carson wouldn't be entirely happy to see that."

"Yes he would. It's pretty."

"I meant you stealing the second-best silverware."

Jimmy watched the shadow of his finger blocking the light from the spoon, then letting it back. "I'm not stealing it. It's still here. I'm just using it."

"I'm not so sure Mr Carson would agree. See you later, Jimmy."

* * *

At the end of the day, Jimmy made himself sit at the table with the others, so as not to look unfriendly. All he wanted to do was sit in his bedroom and run the scrap of velvet he had acquired at Lady Anstruther's over his cheek; it felt so smooth and soft.

Instead, he took his pack of cards downstairs and fiddled with them far more than he played. He managed to avoid joining the conversation for the most part, until Mr Barrow said, "Show us a card trick, Jimmy." He was spared this, however, by Mr Carson's interruption to announce the baby.

"Do you like Lady Sybil?" Jimmy asked Mr Barrow, shuffling his cards repeatedly.

"I do. We worked together in the hospital during the war. So I know her better than all of them, really. She's a lovely person. Like you." And Mr Barrow touched him again, and Jimmy wanted him to stop but Miss O'Brien had told him to make friends with Mr Barrow and when he had told Lady Anstruther's friend not to touch him she had been angry and Lady Anstruther had told him not to be impertinent.

Miss O'Brien must have seen his frown because she asked, "Anything the matter?"

"Mr Barrow touches me," Jimmy said.

"I'm glad to hear it. That's a very good sign. If he's taken to you, he'll definitely put in a good word with his Lordship."

"I'd like to tell him to keep his distance."

"Do you want to get your marching orders, then?"

"Why?" Jimmy asked.

"He'll find it very insulting if you embarrass him, and then he won't be inclined to help you."

Jimmy bid her goodnight and went upstairs to think.

* * *

The morning after Lady Sybil's death, Jimmy knocked on Mr Barrow's door. He answered, red-eyed and head bowed, still only half changed into his uniform. "Good morning, Mr Barrow. I was wondering if I could speak with you a moment. In private," he added, because Miss O'Brien had told him not to embarrass Mr Barrow.

Mr Barrow nodded once, and let Jimmy inside, moving slowly as he pulled on his jacket.

"I don't like to be touched," Jimmy explained to his back.

"Jimmy, is this really the moment?"

"I won't be long, we won't be late."

Mr Barrow did not respond, so Jimmy continued.

"It's nothing personal against you, I just don't like it."

Mr Barrow half-turned. "Don't like what?" he asked, as though he was somewhere else.

"I don't like to be touched. It's too feathery and it makes my skin itch when people touch me lightly."

"Oh. So what kind of… touch do you like?"

"Just, firm. I like firm touches from people. So I know what they're about. And then let they let go neatly, not like they're leaving fingers behind."

"Alright," Mr Barrow said. "I'll bear it in mind. See you at breakfast, Jimmy."

And he did, looking little more recovered. Jimmy was proud he had asked Mr Barrow not to touch him without upsetting him further. Jimmy remembered what his mother had said, a long time ago, when a young woman who lived near to them had lost her sweetheart in an accident. "I'd say your grief speaks well for her."

"Thank you for that," Mr Barrow replied, and he must have listened a little to what Jimmy had said because he gripped Jimmy's hand firmly under the table before letting go neatly. "Thank you for saying that."

All the same, he would have preferred Mr Barrow not to touch him. It made his fingers prickle.

* * *

Later, he and Alfred waited for orders from Mr Carson in the hall. Mr Barrow was fixing a shoe, which was interesting; making something how it should be. Miss O'Brien seemed to think Jimmy liked Ivy, but she talked to him too much, and the pitch of her voice scratched his ears.

Mr Carson entered the room, chest puffed out. The room fell silent as he spoke. "It has come to my attention recently that several pieces of silverware are missing from the cabinets. I am not, of course, suggesting for a _moment_ that any of you have taken it, but if you happen to have seen it or are able to find it, we would all be grateful for its safe return."

Mr Barrow looked at Jimmy. "I'm sure someone's just mislaid them after polishing, Mr Carson," he said.

" _That_ was my _point_ ," Mr Carson replied. "If anyone does happen to find them, please return them to the cabinet or to my office, and we'll say no more about it."

Jimmy said nothing, because Mr Barrow had said that Mr Carson would be angry.


	2. Chapter 2

Jimmy enjoyed his days off. They had always been a way to escape from the relentless presence of people that happened when you worked in a big house, always making noise and asking questions and having petty arguments that made Jimmy tense with nerves. He might not be good at reading facial expressions, but he could read the mood of a room as quickly as blinking; it seemed to crawl under his skin in an instant.

Often, when released from his duties, Jimmy went for a walk. Sometimes, if he could face it and had the money, he would take the bus, and go for a walk somewhere further away. Occasionally he even went as far as the seaside and bought chips to eat on the sand (no fish to go with it, because the crunchy batter hurt his teeth and ears).

He sketched, too, (badly), or looked for sheet music for the piano, or simply sat in a pub and played cards. He borrowed a book on optics from His Lordship and read it four or five times.

Playing the piano was something he was rather proud of. He liked it, because it was a way of connecting with people - especially if they sang along - without anyone having to touch him or look him in the eyes. He loved to play with a good singer, their voice winding around the notes he played into a beautiful harmony. It made him happy.

Accordingly, he sat down at the piano at Downton within his first week, hoping he could impress them, because he was aware that most of them already found him strange. He tried his best to fit in, but sometimes he just wasn't sure what he was supposed to do that would pacify them and not make them think he was odd.

When he picked up the book of sheet music, Mr Barrow came over to ask about his favourite composers, so in return Jimmy asked for advice on what he should play that everyone liked. It seemed to work, because Mrs Hughes complimented his playing, and so did Mr Barrow, who laid his hands on Jimmy's shoulders, massaging them slightly.

Which, honestly, wasn't so bad, except when Miss O'Brien told him to leave he trailed his fingers away across the bare skin of his neck, which was horrible. He must have forgotten what Jimmy had said.

"I wish he wouldn't do that," Jimmy said to O'Brien. He had asked, he had asked Mr Barrow not to touch him lightly. "He's always touching me and I want him to stop."

"You're not going to tell Mr Carson?" said Miss O'Brien, though Jimmy didn't know why, because he hadn't mentioned that.

Even Daisy complimented his playing, though she said it made her sad. He was not sure how to feel about Daisy, because on the one hand she usually said things very plainly, but on the other hand she seemed to be saying that she liked to feel sad, which was silly. He offered to dance with her, though, because he knew he was good at it and he wanted her to like him.

It seemed to work to start with - until Mr Carson caught them and he was royally told off.

* * *

There was to be a new face to join them, Jimmy heard, which was bad enough on its own but this Mr Bates had worked there before, so everyone would know him and how to react with him except for Jimmy. Which would only make his differences more acutely obvious. Jimmy found himself rocking gently while sitting at the table, and kept having to ask Mrs Patmore for an extra crust of bread to chew on, to distract himself. (She obliged the first two times, then just flicked a tea towel at him and told him to find something useful to do.)

"When will he be coming?" Jimmy asked the table at large.

"This morning, Jimmy, as you well know," Mrs Hughes replied.

"What's he like?"

Mr Barrow answered this time. "Pig-headed, pious and in love with his own goodness. Why are you rocking?"

Jimmy made himself sit still. He shouldn't rock. His mother had always told him not to rock, said it made him look mentally deficient. Jimmy did not think he was mentally deficient. He could serve a dinner once and be able to replicate the entire table - serving dishes, cutlery and all - weeks later. That wasn't deficient.

Most people looked pleased to see Mr Bates, but Mr Barrow did not, and it made Jimmy nervous. Mr Barrow had a lot of time for him so if he did not like someone Jimmy would mistrust them. But Mrs Patmore liked Mr Bates, so maybe he wasn't so bad.

Jimmy thought that Mr Bates seemed quiet, and he moved gently.

* * *

When Jimmy entered the servants' hall one afternoon after upstairs' lunch, he saw Lady Mary's blue dress laid out on the table, the skirt hanging down off the side. Which it shouldn't be.

"Lady Mary's dress is on the table," he alerted everyone.

Anna glanced up at him. "I've been repairing it for her. She wants to wear it tonight but the seam had come apart."

"Lady Mary's dress is on the table," Jimmy repeated.

"Yes, I didn't want it to get trodden on. Don't worry, it'll be gone soon."

"Lady Mary's dress is on the table!" he said again, because no one was listening.

"Just shut up, Jimmy, she's told you why," Alfred put in.

"Lady Mary's dress is on the table!"

"Just shut up!"

"Lady Mary requested at lunch that you take the dress up as soon as it's mended, for her to try on," Mr Barrow said smoothly, entering the room behind Jimmy. "Mr Carson must have forgotten to tell you, Anna. That's what you meant, isn't it, Jimmy?"

"Yes," Jimmy replied, relieved.

"I see," Anna said, giving Jimmy a smile. "Thank you, then, Jimmy. I'll take it up now."

* * *

The next day, when Jimmy returned from serving dinner, he heard Miss O'Brien speaking in the servants' hall.

"That Jimmy's a funny one and no mistake," she said, and Jimmy froze in the corridor.

"Don't know what you mean," came Mr Barrow's voice.

"All that fuss over the dress yesterday. I didn't think Mr Carson was hiring simpletons now."

"He hired Alfred," replied Mr Barrow. "Jimmy's alright."

"You've got to admit he's strange," Miss O'Brien said.

"I think he's lovely," said Mr Barrow, and Jimmy burned with pride. Miss O'Brien might think him strange, but Mr Barrow didn't.

There had been a moment of quiet; now Miss O'Brien spoke again, her voice fading out as Jimmy walked away: "Well then. He certainly speaks very highly..."

* * *

Jimmy spent a lot of time playing cards when he was in the servants' hall. It was a good excuse not to look at people as he made conversation, and he liked the smooth expanse of them, the continual reordering, the press of the card edges against the pads of his fingers as he shuffled.

Mr Barrow spent a lot of time smoking, and Jimmy often wondered if it was for the same reason. Cigarettes were so eminently roll-able. He dare not ask, though, even though he had seen Mr Barrow rocking slightly when he was feeling something big.

The days slipped by; Jimmy attempted to flirt with Ivy as Luke had tried to teach him, but he thought he was doing it wrong because she kept looking at him as though he was strange. Mrs Patmore continued to be brisk and uncomplicated. Alfred continued to be useless and annoying, and Jimmy continued to bite at him.

Mr Barrow advised him to keep calm, which was easy for him to say when he wasn't stuck playing second-fiddle to a ten-foot beanpole, though Alfred was twice as thick and half as useful. Jimmy tried to follow his advice, difficult as it was. It did not help when Mr Carson caught on to his trick with the serving spoons and told him off obscurely in front of everyone else.

He went upstairs for a while to calm down, spending much of the time letting free the movement that had been gathering under his skin since that morning; he flapped, rocked and spun to his heart's content. How people could go whole days, weeks, without doing this, he would never understand.

Jimmy got thirsty after a while, and eventually realised that he should go and get a drink. He made himself tea and wandered into the servants' hall, because only Mr Barrow was in there and he could deal with that.

"If I'd thrown a bucket of slop in the old lady's lap, I wouldn't be allowed to go to the flicks," he complained.

"What are you saying?"

"Mr Carson doesn't like me," Jimmy replied. He had found that Mr Carson seemed suspicious of him. Jimmy got the impression that he had only been offered the job on the strength of his reference, and the reality of him was found wanting in Mr Carson's eyes. Which wasn't fair; he tried so hard to be normal. "No matter what Alfred does, he still prefers him. It's not bloody fair."

"Well I love you," Thomas said flippantly, which Jimmy found oddly reassuring.

"If you do, you're on your own." Perhaps not entirely; Mrs Patmore saved him the odd crust of bread; but other than that, most people looked at him as though he was an alien imposter doing a bad impression of a human. Though that was how he felt about himself half of the time too.

What he liked about Mr Barrow was that he asked specific questions, so Jimmy always knew how to answer. He managed to talk about his family without any awkward pauses, keeping his fidgeting down to rubbing his thumb against the teacup. He liked hard objects, when he knew where the edges were.

"Funny, we're quite a pair. We both like to look very sure of ourselves but we're not so sure underneath, are we?"

Jimmy hoped Mr Barrow was not referring to his _behaviours_. It had taken months for him to trust Luke with his fears, and he had only known Mr Barrow about a week. Or perhaps he was saying that he understood? That he knew how Jimmy felt?

"It's hard to be different," Jimmy said carefully, and saw Mr Barrow smile in his peripheral vision.

"That it is," Mr Barrow agreed, and soon afterwards Jimmy went upstairs. He was barely conscious of taking the empty teacup, but when he got upstairs he filled it with water from his wash-basin and put it in the windowsill to catch the morning light. As it was, the candlelight flickered delightedly in the surface, and Jimmy spent far too long watching it before he tore himself away to wash and dress for bed.

His nightclothes were infinitely more comfortable than his livery, which dug in and pained him and distracted him until he found the right places to sew patches on. His mother had taught him how to sew with such small, tight stitches that they could barely be seen or, most importantly, felt.

He settled into bed, and drifted to sleep.

* * *

The first thing Jimmy became aware of was lips on his, a weight on the bed, a presence leaning over him; then he was woken fully by Alfred entering the room and saying words that he was too shocked to process. Jimmy scooted backwards on the bed, drawing himself away and staring wide-eyed at Mr Barrow.

"It's alright," Mr Barrow said, reaching out a hand, but it wasn't alright because this was Jimmy's room and Mr Barrow was inside it and touching him even though this was sleep time, and Alfred was staring at them both as though they had done something terrible and Jimmy didn't understand. "Alfred's nothing, no one will believe him," Mr Barrow continued, but he leaned closer and _he could not touch Jimmy_ so Jimmy leapt away out of bed and pressed himself into the smooth, hard corner of the room.

Mr Barrow looked sad; the hall light shone in his tears. He was talking but Jimmy couldn't make the sounds into words.

Jimmy couldn't answer. He heard Alfred say something he couldn't make sense of, and they both left. Jimmy locked the door behind them then pressed himself into the corner and banged his head against the wall, and eventually fell into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When Jimmy awoke the next morning, the sun was too bright, and the shadows were wrong; he must have slept late. Beyond that, his head was full of buzzing. His neck ached. His eyes hurt. And he had an overwhelming sense of gloom.

He rolled away from the wall and lay flat on his front. His stomach hurt. The floor smelled of wood and dust. Jimmy stared at the dust motes dancing in the air, slow and lethargic. He felt his heart rate slow as he watched the floating specks in the sunlight.

Noise. Knocking on the door. Someone shouting. Door being pushed.

Dust floating, tumbling over and around each other in a slow-motion waltz. Beautiful. Spinning in the sunlight.

Knocking. Distantly: "James? … If you don't open this door, I'm going to come in." Lovely silence for a few seconds, then rattling noise (key in lock?), door opened. "James, what on earth are you doing on the floor?"

Jimmy turned his head to lay his other cheek on the floor, and looked at Mr Carson's shoes.

"Are you _ill_?"

Jimmy blinked.

"Because if you are _not_ ill, I would expect a full explanation of why you did not come downstairs to serve breakfast." Mr Carson stared at him. Jimmy waited for him to say something else. After a moment, Mr Carson drew himself up; he seemed angry. "Might I suggest you get dressed and take yourself downstairs immediately. There is _work_ to be done. You can start with cleaning the boots."

Jimmy pushed himself laboriously off the floor, and stood opposite Mr Carson, waiting for him to move.

"I won't dismiss you, James, because you come with good references and until today you've caused no more trouble than any other footman we've had. But I have to say I have yet to see how you have _earned_ those references." Mr Carson turned his back and Jimmy followed him down the stairs.

On his way to the boot room, Jimmy passed Anna.

"Jimmy - are you quite well?" she asked, trying to look in his eyes.

Jimmy nodded, keeping his gaze on her shoulder.

"Mr Barrow looked tired this morning as well. I hope there isn't something going round." She leaned a little closer and added conspiratorially: "I think he might have snapped at Alfred this morning; Alfred keeps glaring at him. Mr Carson can't get to the bottom of it and you know how he hates that."

Jimmy nodded again, and Anna stepped away, smiled briefly, and continued on her way. Jimmy went into the boot room and set about his duties, lining up the shoes to be cleaned and starting the process by giving the first pair of boots a rub with the stiff brush.

He loved polishing shoes. It wasn't too bright in here, and the polish was clean and pungent, and by the end he would have a pile of beautifully kept and functional shoes. Jimmy fell into the rhythm of it effortlessly, his whole mind focused on the task.

Mr Barrow came to the door after a while. "I won't be long," he said immediately. "And I won't come in. I came to fetch you for lunch. An'… I wanted to say I'm sorry. For the… misunderstanding. And I won't do it again."

You made everything wrong, Jimmy thought. I thought I knew you and you weren't supposed to do that. And now I don't know anyone else either, and it's really scary.

He hadn't known two men could do that either, so now he had to find a whole new understanding of what kissing meant, and what relationships were.

"Can you forgive me?" Mr Barrow said more quietly. After a few moments of Jimmy's silence he shifted and added: "Will you tell anyone?"

Jimmy shook his head.

Mr Barrow smiled a little. "Thank you, Jimmy. Now come on, it's lunchtime."

* * *

"Aren't you going to tell anyone?" Alfred hissed to Jimmy later, when Jimmy was back in the boot room shining His Lordship's best hunting boots. His arms were beginning to ache.

"No."

"They might think you wanted him to do it," Alfred said, sitting on the table. "Anyone might."

"But I didn't want it."

" _I_ know that, I saw how you reacted when he did it. People might think it though, if you stay silent."

Jimmy thought about it for a moment. "Only me and you and Mr Barrow know. So they won't think anything. Because they don't know anything."

"What if I told them?"

Jimmy frowned at the boot he was polishing. Alfred was making no sense. "Why?"

"Well… it's against the law, ain't it? Don't want to stand idly by while this sort of thing goes on. To think, he's been here so long and we never knew."

"If you didn't know, does it matter? He's done no harm to anyone," Jimmy said.

Alfred was quiet for a while. "Maybe. My aunt knows something's up though, and I don't know what to tell her."

"Anna thinks Mr Barrow snapped at you and that's why you're glaring at him."

"You mean you want me to lie for him? A man like that and you want me to lie for him? We can't let him hurt people like he did you."

"He didn't hurt me," Jimmy said. "Don't make it big, Alfred. Just let us all forget about it. I just want to not have to think about it."

"All right, Jimmy," Alfred said at last.

At that point, Mr Barrow came to the door.

"Ah - Jimmy, Mr Carson wants you so he can show you which silverware to lay for tomorrow." He nodded curtly at them both and made to leave.

"He doesn't want you near him," Alfred interrupted, and Mr Barrow stopped dead, his back to them still. "We… aren't going to tell anyone what you did. I'm going to tell my aunt that you and I had a difference of opinion; she doesn't have to know it's about Jimmy. But you have to stay away from him now."

Jimmy saw Mr Barrow nod once. "Very well," he said quietly. He half-turned to glance at them both briefly, almost furtively. "Thank you," he whispered, and left.

* * *

Mr Barrow was different after that. He and Jimmy never spoke in a room on their own, unless it was for one of them to deliver the briefest of instructions to the other, and Mr Barrow was always careful to keep a good distance between the two of them. Jimmy rather liked how he had changed; there was no chance of him unexpectedly reaching out to pat him on the arm as Mrs Patmore sometimes did, and he rarely spoke of trivial things which Jimmy did not understand the point of. He never quite trusted the change, though, and tried to keep his distance. Sometimes, though, he noticed that Mr Barrow seemed sad for no apparent reason.


	4. Chapter 4

In the beginning, Jimmy had spent most of his days in an agony of terror that someone would think him mentally deficient and take him away somewhere, but as time went on the fear lessened. Jimmy would have liked to have had a proper friend, someone to confide in, like Luke, who had told Jimmy about women and when to laugh and how to ask people questions about themselves so they would like you. He was happy here, though; the people at Downton were nice.

Mrs Patmore often pulled a handful of dough from the loaf, and cooked it separately to make Jimmy a small, tough roll to chew on because she knew how much he liked it. Mr Carson continued to view him with slight suspicion, but since Jimmy did his job as well as any other footman he accepted Jimmy's tendency to miss his sarcasm and his peculiar (in Mr Carson's eyes) hatred of the carpet in the drawing room (it made such a painful noise when stepped on).

Alfred seemed to enjoy sharing a secret with Jimmy, despite the potentially dangerous nature of it, and once he had come to terms with his decision to lie to his aunt he became a good workmate to Jimmy. Not to say that they were quite _friends_ , but they made a good team even when they were pushed by extra guests or a course more than usual.

Jimmy made himself happy, too. He had gained two beautifully textured wine glasses from Mrs Hughes when several others in the set had been broken, and watched the rainbow patterns they made on the floor at the right time of day. He played cards in the servants' hall when everyone was relaxed, and sometimes played against the others - usually Alfred or Ivy.

* * *

One autumn day, the fair came to Thirsk. Alfred persuaded Jimmy to go along with all the others, "or I'll be stuck with Mr Barrow!", but Jimmy wasn't looking forward to it very much. The last time he had been to the fair Luke had had to pull him away to the field next door, where he hid away from the noise, smells and people until he had calmed down enough to go home. There was just too much of everything; too many bright lights and shouting stallholders, screaming children and movement everywhere.

"I hope things won't be awkward between you and Mr Barrow today," Alfred said as they were setting out the silverware. "Only I know things have been a bit tense between you and I don't want you to spoil it."

"Nothing's tense," Jimmy said. "We're fine."

"Funny thing is, you hardly give him the time of day and he won't hear a bad word about you."

Jimmy began to panic. "What have I done?"

"I only meant he won't hear anyone speak against you."

"Why are you having a go at me then? We're fine."

"Well, he gets all quiet and snappy if you're short with him."

"Does he?"

"Well, I suppose he wouldn't with you," Alfred conceded. "But we have to deal with him, and I'd sooner not if we're to have a good day, if you take my meaning. So, just be civil with him, is all I'm asking."

* * *

Even from half a mile away, Jimmy could hear the music and shouting of the fair. He fought not to show his discomfort, and even managed to help win the tug-of-war amid shouting onlookers, but after collecting his winnings he had to walk away with his hands over his ears.

Beer, he decided, was the way to deal with this, so he bought himself (and, it felt like, half the fairground) a pint or three, before making his way around the rest of the stalls. The noise bothered him a lot less when he was tipsy; he was calmer, and the noise seemed to filter through to him more gently, as if through water.

He spotted Daisy and Ivy at one of the stalls and bought them a go, but didn't trust his aim enough to try himself.

Jimmy stuck around for as long as he could stand it, but after a couple of hours he had to get away. He went for a quiet walk, and away from the staring eyes he let himself flap his hands to help calm down. Stressful, stressful, stressful, he thought. How could people enjoy that?

As he crossed the footbridge, Jimmy spotted the dark cave-like area created by the curve of the underside of the roadbridge. It looked like a good place to sit for a while, so he did so, and rocked a little in the calming dark with his eyes closed as he listened to the birds. He hummed, quietly, a long, droning note to soothe his ears.

"What the hell's wrong with you, you halfwit?" came a voice, and immediately Jimmy stilled, though every instinct in him was screaming to rock - he was just too afraid to show his natural responses. He could feel his heart pounding hard enough to jump out of his mouth. He forced himself to his feet as his throat closed up. Movement on the other side of the bridge. Could hardly breathe. Voices, hands on him, bodies too close, heart bursting, world pressing in. Shouting. Let go.

Mr Barrow. He shouted something at Jimmy but Jimmy could not understand, so he just ran, because he needed to move and he needed to get away and because Mr Barrow was being hurt and Jimmy could not help on his own.

He ran for the doctor, but once he had led him to the bridge Jimmy stayed back. He did not know how much Mr Barrow had seen, and he had not been so obviously… _abnormal_ in the whole time he had been at Downton - not outside the safety of his room, in any case.

He paced, a more acceptable but less effective way of letting out his feelings, as the doctor looked at Mr Barrow. Mr Barrow, who had got hurt because of Jimmy. Luke had said that was a way of showing love, to let yourself be hurt instead of someone else. He said there were loads of ways of doing it, but Jimmy had never quite understood him until now.

Jimmy wanted to help him, but he didn't know how.


End file.
